All the Queen's Horses
by EmmyElizabeth403
Summary: Reyna wasn't always stone cold. She had a life and a story before Camp Jupiter, before Jason Grace, even before Percy and Annabeth. This is Reyna's story, the way it was meant to be told.
1. Prologue: Lost

**Author's Note: So, this is my attempt to do Reyna's character a little justice, starting at the very beginning of her story. Please tell me what you think, because I love constructive criticism. Thanks! **

**Update: This is just the re-written version of the prologue so that it will work better for what I've been planning for the rest of story. Just a few little changes here and there, nothing major. But I'll try to get a new chapter up soon. -Emmy**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Heroes of Olympus or any associated characters or situations.**

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PROLOGUE: LOST

_The only thing she knew was that she was lost._

A young Puerto Rican girl with smooth cinnamon-colored skin, and long dark hair hanging loose around her face, sat sobbing on the damp sand. She wore a simple cotton dress, the kind that she had worn her entire life, the kind that was common in the town where she had been born.

The warm waves lapped at her bare feet where she was kneeling. Her tears had quieted some now, though not by much.

_The only thing she knew was that she was lost._

The girl had never been this far from her home before. She had been exploring, following birds and playing little games as she had danced through the streets. Her hermana hadn't been watching; only a girl of fourteen, her sister had gotten distracted chattering with her friends. And her papa, of course, had been working.

So here she was, lost and alone on a strange beach, surrounded by empty little seaside villas, with no idea how to get home. She sniffled, wiping her eyes and looking around her, trying to recognize something familiar, anything familiar. She wished more than anything that Papa or Hylla or even old Tia Joslyne, who looked after her on occasion, would suddenly appear out of the maze of streets behind her to take her home. They were all so much bigger and smarter than her, even though on her sixth birthday, Papa had told her she was getting to be a big girl. She suddenly realized how very small she was in the world.

_The only thing she knew was that she was lost._

The sun was beginning to set over the turquoise ocean. It would be dark soon. She wondered if anyone was looking for her right now—if they'd even noticed she was missing. Would she be lost out here forever? Would she ever get home?

More sobs rose out of her throat. She buried her face in her hands, tears streaming down her face. She almost didn't notice the voice coming out of nowhere.

"_Silence your tears, child," _The voice was strong, confident, loud and yet not quite here at the same time. The girl was startled enough to stop crying, looking around for the source of the voice.

_"You will not see me in the flesh, girl, no matter how long you look."_

There was no doubt that the voice was female. It was a strange voice, however, like it was right next to her, and yet very far away at the same time. She couldn't even tell what language it was speaking, although she could understand it fine. It wasn't exactly Spanish, she could tell that. She knew some French, and a smattering of English—they were both common languages in Puerto Rico—but it didn't exactly sound like those either. She was curious enough to reply.

"Buenas noches, señora," she said politely, just like Papa taught her. She hesitated, not knowing what to say. "Um… Do you know the way home, please?"

"_You are a child of Rome. You can find your way on your own. You are stronger than you believe," _the voice barked, loudly and derisively, like a general giving orders to a subordinate.

"But… I'm still little, señora. I don't think I am strong," the girl said.

"_You are a daughter of Bellona; you are my child. You will find the strength, and soon, or you will die. You still have worse days ahead of you." _

The girl's voice broke as she spoke, "But señora… I don't understand. Why can't you just help me?"

"_Life will never be easy for you, little queen. You must learn early on that you will be forced to survive on your own. The way home will never be handed to you without pain and suffering. But I have said enough. I will leave you now. You must remember my words, my young warrior. Do not fail me."_

After those words, there was only silence on the beach, punctuated only by the churning of waves and the quiet rustling of the salty sea breeze through the palm leaves. The girl stood, turning around in circles, desperately searching.

"Señora, wait! Tell me where to go! I'm lost, señora, please! I only want to go home!" she cried to the voice. There was no answer. She began to wonder if there ever was a voice; except she couldn't fool herself. She _knew _what she had heard—including the strange, frightening words of pain and death. She knew that she needed to find her way through the city to her home herself, however scary it would be for her.

The girl dried her eyes, taking deep breaths. She had to be strong. She had to find her way alone.

* * *

A fifteen-year old Puerto Rican girl with long dark hair in a braid down her back, in the regal purple cape of a Roman praetor, stood before the people of New Rome. She took a deep breath, preparing to tell them about the disappearance of Jason Grace, the son of Jupiter and her fellow praetor. She squared her shoulders, reinforcing the cold, stoic expression on her face. She could not afford to be weak.

She wasn't the same little girl she had been that day on the beach in Puerto Rico. No, she was Roman. Puerto Rico was as far away now as a distant dream.

And as a Roman, she had to be strong. She had to be strong for her people. There was no way she could ever break down again the same way that she did on that beach all those years ago. She was a different person, and this person was as cold as stone. This person was a warrior, a daughter of Bellona. She wasn't that frightened little girl. And she never would be again; that, at least, she was sure of.

But in the end, the only thing that Reyna really knew was that she was still lost.

And, even after all these years, she found that she still had to find her way on her own.


	2. Chapter One: The Beginning of the End

** Author's Note: Yay! I finally got up Chapter One! Actually, when I started writing this, I ended up with about four thousand words more than I had meant to write, so I had to separate it into several chapters. Anyway, I got this first section all polished up today. I'm not entirely happy with it, but here it is. Please tell me what you think. Thanks so much! –Emmy**

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"All The Queen's Horses"

Chapter 1: The Beginning of the End

_A regal woman in the traditional garb of a Roman warrior stood before her. She wielded a spear and a lit torch; a golden sword was sheathed at her side. Her dark hair spilled out of an intricate gold battle helmet, her obsidian eyes shining dangerously with cool, calculating hostility. She was beautiful in a proud, strong way—but as beautiful as she was, she was twice as intimidating. _

_ The woman was surveying her with a cold, imperious look, her head held high. _

_ "Do not disappoint me, child. You were born a warrior. It is time that you start acting like it," the woman barked at her, eyes unforgiving._

_ She could only look up at the woman with wide eyes. She was frightened, and yet, all of this seemed familiar, somehow, as though she knew this woman well and was used to her presence._

_ She tried to speak, but couldn't find her voice._

_ "Silence, daughter—there will be time to speak once you have proven yourself. For now, however, you must stay strong. Very soon, you will need that strength. Good luck, my young warrior."_

_ Then the image dissolved, breaking up and smudging together like a television with bad reception. The last clear image was that of the woman's crossed sword and torch, burning brightly against her vision. _

Reyna awoke suddenly to the sound of raised voices. Shaking off the strange dream, she silently slid out of bed, creeping out into the hallway and peeking into the little kitchen, instantly locating the source of the shouting.

There stood Papa and Hylla—as Reyna had already suspected—nose to nose, arguing furiously in Spanish. They were so involved in their fight that they didn't notice the six year old, so she remained in the shadows and listened, waiting for the argument to be over. She was used to them fighting, but this one seemed much worse than usual.

"Who _the hell_ do you think you are!? You've never been a father to us before, so why start now? The only time you paid any attention to me was when Mother came back. And then she left you with another baby to take care of, and you stopped acknowledging your children's existence! I mean, what were you expecting; that she wouldn't leave you the second time around?" Hylla

"Hylla, you have no right to talk to me that way. You live in _my _house and eat the food that _I _provide for you! Watch your mouth."

"Yeah, and that's it, isn't it? You wouldn't even keep me around if I didn't _cook_ that food and _clean_ this house and _raise your daughter_ for you! To be honest, _Dad, _I wouldn't even stick around here if it weren't for the fact that Reyna would probably end up starving on the streets if it weren't for me!"

"You don't want to be here? Then you're welcome to leave. I'm tired of your ungratefulness."

Reyna heard a harsh, derisive laugh from her sister in response to this.

"You want me to leave? Maybe I will. Maybe neither of your daughters will be here when you wake up in the morning. And then all you'll be is a sad, lonely drunk with no family and nothing to live for. I'm so sick and tired of this. And Reyna deserves better than to grow up with _you_ as a father, Antonio."

With those stinging words, Hylla stalked into the hallway, stopping abruptly as she almost ran into Reyna. Reyna just looked up at her older sister silently, expecting to be reprimanded for eavesdropping and being up past her bedtime.

Instead, Hylla sighed heavily, reaching for the little girl's hand.

"Reyna, come on, mi cariño. Let's get you to bed," she murmured gently, leading her to the room they shared.

Glancing back at their father, who was standing there watching the two girls with a clenched jaw, Reyna allowed herself to be pulled down the hall, trying to hold back her tears.

As Hylla tucked Reyna in, she sat down on the edge of the bed.

"I'm sorry that you had to hear that, Reyna. Were you having bad dreams again?"

Reyna was silent for a moment before answering, "No. It wasn't that bad. But I woke up and I couldn't get back to sleep."

Hylla stroked her sister's hair, absentmindedly staring at the brightly colored bedspread, clearly in deep thought.

"Well… It's alright, now, Pequeña Reina," she whispered, calling her the nickname that she used only when Reyna was really sad or scared—Little Queen. "Go to sleep, now. Everything is okay. We—we'll talk in the morning."

Reyna nodded and closed her eyes, comforted by her sister's presence. Hylla continued to softly stroke her hair, occasionally whispering gentle reassurances to her. Soon, lulled by her older sister's comfort, Reyna drifted off into a sweet, dreamless sleep.

And that turned out to be the end of her life as she knew it.


	3. Chapter Two: The End of The World

**Author's Note: This chapter is told in two parts, the first part from Reyna's point of view, and the second from Hylla's. They're both set during the same time frame, so… Hopefully it's not too confusing. Please tell me what you think! –Emmy**

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All The Queen's Horses

Chapter Two: The End of The World

**Part One: Reyna**

_Screaming. Blood. Fire._

Reyna thought she was dreaming. She hoped to God that she was dreaming.

_Gunshots. Noise. Chaos._

Everything around her was burning. People, ones she knew and complete strangers alike, ran every which way, pushing and shoving past her. A bright, rust-tinged scarlet painted the ground in fresh splatters, adding the sharp smell of iron and salt to the already flame-scented air.

_Tears. Pain. Suffering._

The world was a blur of terrible images, ones that Reyna would never forget; images that would haunt her dreams until the day she died.

_Death. Love. Destruction._

The only things that Reyna could be sure of was the image of her father lying in a pool of blood, eyes glazed and open but horrifyingly unseeing, and the feel of her sister's tight grip on her hand as they ran, sick, dazed, and disoriented.

Hours passed in one frightening, dizzying mosaic of pain. She was too scared to tell what was happening.

All Reyna knew was that, suddenly, her world had come crumbling down to dust.

* * *

**Part Two: Hylla**

Reyna was sobbing, hanging onto her older sister tightly. Hylla was trying her best not to cry along with Reyna. She didn't have any idea where to go. She didn't understand what was happening any more than the six year old did, and she was supposed to be the oldest, the wisest. Their entire neighborhood was on fire, people everywhere yelling in Spanish for missing family members, their cries piercing through the grief-stricken air. Nobody noticed the two young Santiago sisters, covered in soot and blood, escape into the dark night.

Hylla still wasn't convinced that this wasn't some sort of terrible nightmare. Everything had happened so fast…

_She awoke to a sound coming from the next room. A yell, a round of gunshots, then nothing—the most awful, pressing silence she had ever heard._

_ When she registered the quiet footfalls of boots on carpet coming down the hall, Hylla locked the door. She knew it wouldn't hold back anyone that really wanted to get in, but it was all she could think of. She grabbed Reyna, who was still asleep, and quickly hid in the closet, behind the boxes of shoes and clothes. Reyna was a heavy sleeper at that age—she didn't even stir._

_ Hylla closed the closet door firmly. As voices stopped right outside the bedroom, Hylla prayed. She prayed to the Gods that she already knew existed, to her mother to keep them safe._

_ She heard irritated conversion from at least two men in a language that she wasn't familiar with—Portuguese, maybe, or Italian—as they failed to get the door open. Then, another louder voice spoke in English, and, although Hylla wasn't fluent in the language, she understood the meaning of this man's words quite clearly._

_ "Just leave them. Leave them to burn to death."_

Hylla shuddered at the memory of it.

The men had left, locking all of the doors behind them and leaving the furniture drenched in kerosene, a single lit match becoming the reason that the entire neighborhood had gone up in flames.

Their father had been murdered, their house burned down. The girls had been left to die in the fire. But the men had underestimated Hylla, not to mention her lineage. Somehow, she had gotten them both out, although she couldn't for the life of her remember how now.

Their entire family had been targeted, even old Tia Joslyne. Everyone they had ever known—their neighbors, their friends, their teachers—had been targeted, and they had been the only ones to survive, as far as they knew.

Later, Hylla attributed their escape to guidance from their mother. But really, they didn't know. They didn't know anything. Their world had been destroyed. And they didn't even know why.

The only thing Hylla knew now was that she had to keep her sister safe. That was the only thing that was important anymore.

So Hylla did the only thing she could do. She snuck them aboard the first cargo ship out of Puerto Rico, with nothing but each other and the clothes on their backs.

It wasn't until they were safely stowed away in the hold of the ship, in a tiny, undetectable nook behind some boxes, that Hylla started to pray once again.


End file.
